


Slightly Barbaric Pastimes

by Triss_Hawkeye



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: Consensual fighting, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Just two guys having fun, Look the decades prior to your relationship were mostly FIGHTING you really should've expected this, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:03:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triss_Hawkeye/pseuds/Triss_Hawkeye
Summary: January, 2018“Something is bothering you, my love.”





	Slightly Barbaric Pastimes

**Author's Note:**

> Can be considered a sequel of sorts to [Uncivilised Behaviour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15651108), and therefore contains a few hat-tips to [ByronicVulcan's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByronicVulcan/pseuds/ByronicVulcan) work (in particular, the idea that miniatures can quite happily take more of a beating than humans can).
> 
> I have taken great liberties with the layout of the Roman diorama. Just imagine that the house is on a slight hill off to one side or something.

January, 2018

“Something is bothering you, my love.”

“No it ain’t.”

“Yes it is.”

Jedediah sighs and leans back against the wall. Next to him, Octavius puts a hand on his shoulder, then leans his chin on the hand. Jedediah doesn’t need to look to know the deeply sceptical face he’s pulling. 

“Tell me.”

“It’s nothing.”

Truth be told, there is nothing wrong, as such. Jedediah is happy. It‘s a happiness tinged with terror, to be sure - terror that the tentative steps they’ve taken into this new stage in their relationship will somehow dissolve like footprints in melting snow. But even then, that terror is eased by the facts of the matter - that the two of them share a love that goes back decades, that’s just now letting itself be known in new ways. 

Friendly touches from Octavius, expressions of camaraderie and affection going right back to when Larry started as night guard, now extend to fleeting hands on Jedediah’s waist, a brief caress of his cheek, a gentle brush of lips on lips when they’re alone and Jed has no one to be shy in front of. They offer each other coy invitations back to tent or domus, still new and exciting, where they explore new facets of the bodies they’ve already come to know through years of wrestling and longing gazes when the other wasn’t looking, finding out the ways to best love each other. 

For all that Oct is the forward one when it comes to affection outside the bed, he’s curiously different when they’re together - he’s cautious, and gentle to the point of reverence, and has his own little set of cultural hang-ups, mainly around penetration. For his part, Jed thinks he wouldn’t mind trying it, but neither does he feel like he’s missing out in the slightest, what with Octavius being so careful and attentive a lover. And with the tablet back for the foreseeable, they have all the time in the world together to figure things out.

Jedediah’s got nothing to complain about. 

Octavius is not convinced. 

He takes Jed’s face in both hands, turns it to face him. “Whatever you need,” he says, slow and earnest, “whatever is in my power to grant, you may have it.”

Jed smiles. God, he loves it when Octavius gets all dramatic and imperious like this. Like he’d happily boss the moon around for his lover’s sake, and it’s ridiculous, but you’d almost believe it would listen. 

“Do you wish to venture outside?” the Roman continues. “We can ask for the door to be opened a crack- Or is it…” His voice goes a little flustered. “I mean, d-do you wish to-”

“No, darlin’, no, it’s all right,” Jed replies, reaching up to stroke one of the hands holding his face. “It’s a strange mood, is all. It’ll pass.”

“Then won’t you at least tell me your strange mood?”

Jedediah falls quiet and turns away. He looks out into the Roman diorama, sat where he’d slumped to the ground against the wall of Octavius’ house half an hour ago. He’s not entirely sure he can describe it, much less speak the words to his lover. How can he tell him that sometimes he just wants to hold Oct to himself so tight that their bodies melt together, never again to be separate? And that he ain’t made of glass, but even if he were, he’d want them to shatter against each other, into such a jumble of shards that you can’t tell one piece from another to put them back together again. That he feels nostalgic for something, that same sort of inner ache he has about his memories of the wilderness, of scrub-shrewn mountainsides and the cool, fragrant air under the stars, but he doesn’t even know what for or why. None of it makes sense. But Octavius is there at his side, waiting for an answer. So he sighs and spits out the first thing that he can. 

“Hey, Octy… d’you miss tusslin’ sometimes?”

Octavius gives a soft laugh. “Is that it?”

He gets to his feet and walks into the house, removing his galea as he does so. With some sense of alarm, Jed scrambles after him.

“Hey, wait, what’re you doing?”

Off comes his sword, his cloak, his cuirass. He glances over at Jed halfway through unbuckling one of his bracers. “Remove your hat and pistols.” A pause. “And your gloves.”

Well that was awful specific. “What for?!” Jed demands, but he does it, adding them to Octavius’ pile of discarded armour. The Roman rocks his head from side to side, rolls his shoulders, then turns to face him, hands slightly raised in front of his face and torso. Like he’s squaring off. 

“Fight me.”

Jed blinks. “You- what?! I ain’t fighting you!”

“Why not?” Octavius steps forward and shoves him none too gently in the chest - Jed’s still a little off his guard and staggers backwards a couple of steps. “Worried you’ve lost your edge? Grown soft in peacetime without the disciplined regimen of Roman training? That sounds to me just like an _uncivilised barbarian_.”

“Oh, it is _on_ , boy.” Jed grabs a handful of Oct’s tunic and hauls him over to one side, not quite overbalancing him but sending him careening into a wall. Without missing a beat he rebounds off it, shoulder impacting Jed’s chest. Jed’s a little winded by the blow, but he kicks back, gets Octavius solidly in the stomach. Without the cuirass, he doubles over, and Jed pauses for just a moment, unsure if he’s gone too far already. Octavius takes advantage of his hesitancy to charge him, head still down, fastening his arms around Jed’s torso and bodily heaving him out of the door.

The momentum carries them both to the ground and there’s a mad scramble of arms and legs, elbows and feet, that ends with Jed smacking Octavius’ face against the ground and wriggling free, towards the slope down to the rest of the diorama. He’s only half to his feet when he’s charged again - he twists, letting Octavius’ unhalted impetus carry him over the slope, and he enjoys a fraction of a second of devious glee before he realises that Oct’s got a grip on his belt, and then his stomach lurches and they’re rolling barrel-like down the hill, heads and legs knocking together, narrowly avoiding the smattering of cultivated trees on the way down. 

They manage to roll to a stop before the grass makes way for paved street, and the fight continues without pause. Jedediah is panting hard, heart pounding, the wild delight of battle rushing to his head as he struggles to get a grip on Octavius, who’s baring his teeth in what could equally be a grin or a grimace. They’ve fought countless times before, but Jed’s not so experienced in fighting the man out of armour - as well he knows, the general is lithe and wiry under the muscle cuirass, and it turns out that makes him slippery as an eel to pin down. And the sly fox told him to remove his gloves - it occurs to him now, in a tiny thought in the back of his mind, that Oct had known exactly what he was doing, as Jed fastens a grip around an unarmoured arm, clutches at his bare thigh to stop him wrapping a leg around Jed’s own. He lets out an involuntary whine at the contact that’s quickly cut off by Octavius’ other knee jamming into his stomach, but which does nothing to alter the fact that he’s all fired up in more ways than one right now.

He’s still scrabbling to get Octavius pinned when a shout goes up ahead of them. He freezes and looks up, mussed hair falling in front of his eyes, to see a pair of patrolling guards running over. They slow as they approach, eyeing the situation with uncertainty.

“Do you... require assistance, my liege?” one of them asks nervously.

Octavius tilts his head. “On with your patrol, men. I have this situation under control.” As if to illustrate his point, he uses the distraction to wriggle free and in one deft move plants Jed’s face into the grass, to a muffled cry of protest.

“Not fair, Oc!”

“You know full well to use every advantage in combat, Jedediah,” Octavius replies, smug snake that he is. He straddles Jed’s torso for good measure, and oh dear Lord in heaven but Jed can feel that Oct’s as turned on as he is. 

“Does this mean that we’re to fight the western diorama once more, sir?” the other guard asks.

Jed’s not sure if the man sounds hopeful or fearful at the prospect. He feels Octavius’ talon-like grip on the back of his head lighten enough for him to raise it a little. He spits out a mouthful of grass before replying. “Only if you ask ‘em nicely, boys.” He’s gratified to hear a snort of amusement from Octavius before the patrol is waved on its way, and he’s grateful that the rest of the Roman population is mostly out in the wider museum, given the way things are going.

By the time the scurrying footsteps of the guards have died away, Jed’s caught his breath enough to buck Octavius off of him, rolling free and scrambling to his feet. He spots a small building nearby, pale stone like everything else here but still no more than a glorified storage shed. Perfect. He’s tripped by a hand around his ankle, but Octavius has clearly had the same thought, as they’re both now moving in the same direction, knocking each other down as they go like it’s a race to get there first.

Oct doesn’t even let him to his feet once they’ve finally scrambled inside, taking up most of what little floorspace there is - he clamps onto Jedediah’s back and pushes him to the floor with renewed vigour, one hand on the side of his face, pressing his cheek into the ground, the other holding down one of his wrists, and Jed scrabbles uselessly against it for a moment but Octavius has straddled one of his legs and is grinding down on the back of his thigh, and Jed moans and can’t find it in himself to do anything except rock his hips against the floor in return as Octavius moulds himself over his back. It’s just like old times, except neither feels the need to hide his pleasure from the other. It’s what he’s been missing, except better, because he can feel Octavius whispering his name again and again into the space between his shoulder blades, because it’s not metal armour that presses against him but the hot frame of another body, because Octavius releases his wrist and boldly places the hand where he can move himself against it, because he can hear pure delight in how Octavius cries out and also in his own voice as he follows him under a few moments later. 

Once the Roman’s grip weakens, Jedediah rolls over on the floor beneath him and pulls him close, cradling his head upon his chest and carding his fingers through the short cropped hair. Octavius knits their legs together and rests a hand beside his head, stroking his thumb gently over the rumpled fabric of Jed’s shirt above his heart. They stay quiet like that for a good long minute while their breathing subsides. Jedediah aches all over, and feels loved beyond belief. 

Eventually Octavius lifts his head, shuffles upwards so that they’re face to face. “Did that scratch an itch, my love?” he murmurs against Jed’s lips with an impish smile.

Jed’s overcome by a fit of giggling. “Sure seems like it did, partner!”

Octavius holds him tight and laughs along with him.

\--

Around a corner two buildings away, a number of faces peer surreptitiously around the wall at the two bruised and disheveled figures emerging from the storehouse with arms around each other and matching wide grins. 

“Who won?” someone whispers.

“Marcus, boy, I _really_ don’t think they were quarrellin’.”

“They were in combat, I swear it!”

“Looks like ‘they both win’ gets it.”

“Gods _damn_ it.”

A mixed bundle of dollars and denarii changes hands as, oblivious, the two leaders make their way back up the hill.

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out Jed's fine with being manhandled if Octavius is the one doing it. ;)


End file.
